


An Orchard Will Be Planted Here

by jules_evan (julien_avec_rien)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Getting Together, Graphic Description of Injury, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mythical Beings & Creatures, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), Road Trips, Soft Hands, angst? maybe?, it's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julien_avec_rien/pseuds/jules_evan
Summary: When Arthur is badly wounded during an inexplicable attack by a magical creature, Merlin must make sure he lives long enough to make it back to Camelot. But that's easier said than done, especially with uncomfortable truths swirling just out of sight.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 342





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soft boys being tough because that's my aesthetic
> 
> Title is the opening of the poem _Mines _by E Serebrovskaya, 1946_  
>    
> With special love to Lena, [ joggerwriting](/users/joggerwriting/)_ for your encouraging words! Your friendly, generous and thoughtful comments pushed me through this piece with positivity and zest! Thank you ♥

“It’s bad,” Merlin hedged. “There’s pus.”

Arthur grimaced as Merlin pressed the bloated edges of his wound. “Aren’t you supposed to say something comforting? Like, _I’ve seen worse_? And, _it’ll heal_?” 

“It’s green,” Merlin supplied. “And a bit yellow.” 

Arthur let his head drop. It was too heavy to hold up any longer. “I don’t care what color it is, Merlin. Just fix it.” 

“It’s not a broken link in your armour, clotpole.” Merlin’s probing fingers retreated. “I think it’s becoming gangrenous.” 

“Alright,” Arthur said with more patience than he felt. “Then, as the only person here who can do anything about that, can you please shut up and fix it like I asked?” 

A searing, throbbing pain ripped through his thigh right down to his toes. He grabbed at Merlin’s shoulder to stop himself from yelling. When the pulse of pain ebbed, he opened his eyes. “What was that?!” 

“I had to squeeze the pus out or there’s no chance it’ll heal. There’s still more, so.” 

And the pain shot through his leg again. It was as if Merlin had his fingers under Arthur’s skin and was digging around with his nails. Arthur grit his teeth and reminded himself that pain was only temporary as long as it didn’t kill you. At last, the breath-stealing hurt began to recede, and Merlin announced that he’d lanced it as well as he could. 

“It needs to be cleaned.” 

“You’ve said that a hundred times already.” 

“And you see now why that is,” Merlin retorted, frowning. “We need water. And I’d take almost any living herb at this point.” 

“We have none of those things,” Arthur said, continuing his patient, calm tone, even if he felt like kicking Merlin in the backside and shouting that he knew all this. “So, either we keep going until we find them, or you think of something else that will help.” 

“Why do I have to do all the thinking?” 

Arthur took a long, slow breath. His lungs hurt. He wasn’t sure why when the worst wound was to his leg. “I know practicing a new skill is difficult, Merlin, but I’m confident you can do it.” 

Merlin huffed from somewhere above him. Arthur’s eyes were open, but Merlin had melted into a colorful, formless shape. Something had happened to Merlin’s voice, too, because (though it was still annoyed) it was muffled and very far off. 

The orange sky beyond sparked intermittently and then went dark. 

~ 

“At last.” He heard Merlin let out a long, fraught breath. “At last.” 

Arthur’s head throbbed, his body stiff and tender as if it hadn’t moved in a while, but Merlin’s presence was reassuring, so Arthur dared open his eyes. Merlin was hovering over him and he grinned when Arthur blinked in the light. 

“You passed out,” he said without preamble. “But I found some water and cleaned your wound. I think you’ll live. For now.” 

Arthur wanted to know where in this scorching wasteland Merlin had found water, but he didn’t have the energy to form words. He looked down at his thigh. It was heavily and cleanly bandaged with the last strips of Merlin’s neckerchief. The old, bloody, pus-encrusted strips Merlin had thrown in the small fire at Arthur’s side. He could still see the linen curling in the embers. Daylight held but was fading fast. He hadn’t been out for that long, then. 

“Thank you,” he said when his brain caught up to Merlin’s words. 

Merlin huffed in pleasant surprise but made no mocking rejoinder. For his part, Arthur decided it was the smoke from the fire making Merlin’s eyes appear so red and puffy and didn’t tease. 

Merlin busied himself laying out the lone bedroll as Arthur watched with drowsy eyes. His leg didn’t hurt much anymore, but he was drained and dragged himself onto the bedroll as soon as Merlin had it flat. 

“You need to eat something,” Merlin said, motioning for Arthur to sit up again. “Get your strength back up.” 

“I’ll eat tomorrow,” Arthur protested. 

“You’ll eat now or die in the night.” 

Well, there was no arguing with that. Arthur heaved himself back up and didn’t protest when Merlin came over to prop him against a desiccated tree trunk that must have fallen before either of them were born. When he’d fussed Arthur into a serviceable position, he went back to the little mound of their supplies and pulled out their rations. 

Arthur weighed the heft of the pack in his mind as Merlin opened it – they had enough for tonight and maybe tomorrow. That is, if Merlin didn’t insist on being stupid. 

“That’s too much,” Arthur protested as a chunk of bread and four strips of jerky were laid in his lap. 

“I said you need to eat,” Merlin repeated, his face sour. “Are you having trouble understanding simple premises?” 

Arthur let his head fall back against the flaking bark and took a long breath that he refused to let become a sigh. “What is your problem?” 

Merlin lifted his head from his own, much smaller portion of food, eyes wide, then narrow. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord.” 

Arthur let his gaze drift up to the darkening sky. Several bright stars were already piercing the twilight, but the earth held the soft pink light around its edges, like a lover reluctant to let go of a cherished hand. He just wanted… but comfort was not in their repertoire. For all Merlin could be kind, his bedside manner was sorely lacking. 

“You’re in a snit,” Arthur pointed out. 

“Whatever you say.” Merlin made a show of concentrating on his food. 

Still, the pain, and the isolation of the land, anesthetized Arthur’s self-preservation. “We could try something new,” he suggested mildly, “Where you tell me the truth.” 

Merlin’s cornered look was fascinating. The firelight shone in his irises and the shadows stretched over his bones, blanketing the line of his cheek, the dip under his mouth, the wells of his eyes. He seemed like a different creature to Arthur, ethereal and just out of reach. Or maybe that was the fatigue dragging Arthur’s body to a strange place. 

“The truth about what?” Merlin sounded different, too. His voice was low and gravelly, like it had cost something to speak. 

Arthur had a retort to that. It was half-formed already. Merlin understanding simple premises. He shook his head to dislodge the words and the world lurched, then dimmed like a guttering flame. His head might be actively lifting free of his neck the way everything was turning weightless. 

“There, now, see?” Merlin’s voice was close in his ear and it was no longer strange, but gentle and indulgent. “Eat this.” 

Arthur felt the strip of jerky touch his lips and he opened and chewed obediently. Had the light vanished that quickly? He could barely make Merlin out at his side. 

“Arthur, stay awake. Have another bite.” 

He complied because Merlin sounded so sure that he should, but it required a straining of his will that wasn’t at all pleasant. 

“Good. Another.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure how long this went on, but he bit and chewed and swallowed and eventually colour drained back into his eyes after a golden suffusion of warmth at the edges of his awareness. He could see that it was nearly dark, but shapes had form and volume again and he could see the planes of Merlin’s face in front of him. He blinked and focused. 

Merlin caught the movement and peered into his eyes, nodding after seeing something that must have pleased him. “I think you’ll be all right now.” 

He wanted to reassure Merlin that he was. That there was no reason for Merlin’s brows to dip so low or his mouth to press so thin. “Of course I’m all right,” he managed. “Never better.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You’re the most arrogant prat I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Your body was actively dying just then.” 

“And thanks to you, it isn’t anymore.” The world was still muffled from Arthur’s sharpest senses, but he understood, now, the spasmodic tightening of Merlin’s lips and his sharp exhale. “You don’t have to worry.” 

Merlin laughed, a low mirthless expulsion of air. “I wasn’t worried.” 

“See, now, that’s a lie,” Arthur said, smiling openly at the awkward discomfort on Merlin’s face. He was tired and fading fast, but glad when Merlin sent a small, conciliatory smirk his way. Arthur shimmied down to the bedroll and turned away from Merlin before adding, “Sorry for worrying you.” 

There was no response, but Merlin stopped making so much noise retying the bags and stacking the fire. Arthur wanted to wait until he heard Merlin settle down for the night, but exhaustion claimed him and he fell into a dreamless sleep. 

~ 

Arthur woke slowly. His mouth and throat were dry, and that dryness spread to his head and limbs. With effort he unstuck his eyelids and looked about. 

Merlin was asleep on his stomach, face pressed into the cracked and dusty earth. He was closer than he’d been when he’d sat for dinner. If Arthur reached out a hand he could touch Merlin’s face, his straight nose, the very veins in his eyelids. 

Arthur let his head roll to the other side. Dawn was upon them. The light was pale red, like bloody water and Camelot was so far. A sennight on foot if they were both healthy. He allowed himself a small, quiet sigh. 

Merlin had already dragged him across this forsaken plain for three days. They were out of water and nearly out of food. Arthur didn’t doubt Merlin’s reliability or determination but there were limits to what a person could do. 

It began to occur to him that he might not make it home. 

The sky bled out above, washing the fleeing night in rusty waves. 

He’d need all his fortitude and it would have to hold. And hold. 

He allowed himself one more deep exhalation before he roused Merlin and tried to fight on. 

But before Arthur could pry open his eyes again, Merlin’s hand slipped over his forehead. 

“Arthur?” he whispered. 

“I’m awake.” 

Merlin’s hand was warm, and he seemed satisfied that there was no fever because he sat up and grabbed the rations bag. 

“Give me an appropriate amount,” Arthur ordered. “It needs to last.” 

Merlin smirked and dropped a chunk of bread and a strip of jerky on his chest. More than was wise. “You need to live. We’ll worry about starving later.” 

Arthur let his head drop back down and rolled his eyes. Merlin knew nothing. He was more empty-headed than a bean-filled doll. If they had no food, they would run out of energy and then they wouldn’t be able to remedy the lack of food. Better to conserve now, even if it meant they were hungry. 

Arthur looked back over at Merlin, who was already covering the embers in the fire. “Aren’t you going to eat something?” 

Merlin shook his head and went to repack their meagre supplies. Arthur let his head drop again. Infuriating. 

Arthur got himself to his feet after he’d eaten and decided not to tell Merlin that the world spun around four times once he was upright. He’d eaten without fuss because he knew Merlin wouldn’t press on until he had and he needed to preserve his energy for walking, not arguing. Now he realised how true that was. 

With Merlin’s sharp shoulder wedged under his arm, they trudged on in silence. He’d tried not to lean on Merlin too much the previous days – Merlin could barely keep himself upright sometimes – but he ignored the damage to his pride now and gave in. Making it home was priority, and he didn’t want to lose his leg, either. Still, it wasn’t easy. As the morning stretched on Arthur noticed how their knees collided, how Merlin’s shoulder sloped into his, how Merlin’s fingers gripped the neck of his shirt and hauled upwards from time to time. 

A sennight. Unless something changed, he wouldn’t make it. Merlin would have to lay his body down alone and leave. Return to Camelot and tell everyone that the prince would never be king. 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur roused himself and set his teeth. “We need a plan, Merlin.” 

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. Achievable goals.” 

Arthur forced himself to take back some of his weight. “We’re not tilling a field. We need a strategy or at some point we won’t be prepared to face the next step because we didn’t consider it would exist.” The effort of his speech brought tiny sparks to the outermost edge of his vision, but he sucked in several breaths and they faded. 

“OK,” Merlin said slowly. “I see your point. So, we…walk as far as we can on the food we have and then…” 

Arthur couldn’t feel his injured leg anymore, but he lifted it and smacked it down by rote. “We walk as far as we can on less than what we have, so there are some reserves. When we get out of this deathscape, you’ll go on ahead to find food and water and perhaps a horse.” 

“I’m not leaving you here.” 

A warm streak ducked furtively through Arthur’s veins at Merlin’s scandalised protest. “Do you have a better plan?” 

And even though he wanted to be, Arthur wasn’t gratified when Merlin stayed silent. He noticed that Merlin didn’t agree to go on ahead, but following his manservant’s strategy, he decided to cross that bridge when they came to it. And though Merlin’s silence was companionable, based on the way his fingers flexed soothingly in Arthur’s collar, Arthur didn’t like the quiet. It left too much space for self-defeating thoughts to creep in. 

“What do you think happened here?” 

Merlin looked around at the charred tree stumps and barren ground. The earth was a chalky red clay that seemed to coat everything, giving even the air a rusty hue. Unlike the Perilous lands, this place was not on their maps. It lacked the swampy quicksand and thus far, any fauna to speak of. This Arthur counted as a positive, but it stilled begged the question how such an empty place came to be. Even the Perilous lands became perilous slowly, thick forests sickening into eerie wasteland over several leagues. But this place had appeared abruptly. Fields flowed down from the mountainous region they’d been wending their way over into a sudden slash, like a sword strike that separated living from dead. 

It couldn’t be far across, they’d decided. A freak storm or a poison in the water would leave a mark no farther than a day’s walk. They had to risk it, with Arthur’s injury. It was the quickest way back to Camelot. And now they’d begun their fourth day through the waterless, plantless, lifeless ruin of earth. 

Arthur could hazard a guess, now that they’d spent time in the place, but if it was so, he wanted Merlin to be the one to suggest it. The word never sounded as bad coming from his mouth. 

Merlin swiveled his head once more and took a deep breath of the hazy air through his nose. Then he shrugged. “Could be magic,” he said carefully. Yes, never quite as ominous in Merlin’s accent. He wondered why that was. 

“Can you smell magic?” Arthur asked. He thought he’d been joking, but Merlin turned to him, the same alarm on his face as he wore by the fire last night. 

“What?” 

Arthur lifted an eyebrow. “You took a breath like you were smelling something.” 

“I was just breathing.” 

Now Arthur couldn’t let it go. Merlin never seemed to learn that evasion inspired chase. “Did you think you could smell what had happened? Like poison? Or magic?” 

Merlin stuck out his jaw. “I don’t know, Arthur. I just breathed. You’re delirious.” 

Arthur smiled. “A little.” He nudged his manservant. “It’s okay, Merlin. I won’t tell anyone you aspire to be a bloodhound.” 

“I absolutely don’t,” Merlin countered. 

Arthur tried to shrug, but the way they were puzzled together just set Merlin off balance. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Merlin ignored him and they walked on, crunching over loose stone and unforgiving clay. “If it is magic,” Arthur ventured into the oppressive stillness, “What do you think the purpose was? Beyond general destruction.” 

Merlin shook his head. “I couldn’t say.” 

Midday had passed. The sun sweltered and Arthur felt if he didn’t speak his throat would dry up and fill with dust. “It would’ve had to have been powerful, don’t you think?” 

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “Very powerful.” 

“I’d think it was a dragon if we weren’t sure the last one was dead.” 

Arthur almost lost his footing as Merlin stopped short. “A dragon?” 

“Don’t be scared, Merlin. I dispatched it, remember?” He had more to tease about, but Merlin’s expression shuttered the words in his throat. It wasn’t simply fear moistening all his features, but what else it was evaded Arthur’s interpretation. 

“Good thing, that,” Merlin coughed out, eventually. 

“We’d be sitting ducks with no cover,” Arthur rejoined, just to speak into the awkwardness. With this injury. Without being able to run. Or wield a sword effectively. He shivered through the heat of the day. 

“Could there be others?” Merlin wondered. Arthur noticed he kept his eyes on the position of the sun and avoided Arthur’s face. If it had ever occurred to him that Merlin was this afraid of dragons, he would have kept his mouth shut. 

“Of course not. My father culled them all, except the one we felled. There’s nothing to fear.” 

Merlin sucked his teeth. “’m not afraid.” 

It felt good to laugh at Merlin’s obstinate face. His blue eyes flashed under the dirty streaks of red dust mingled with sweat, and his mouth was set in a grim line that Arthur found endearing, like a pup trying to win against its parent. “You can tell me,” Arthur prodded indulgently. “I’ll keep it close.” 

He enjoyed the way Merlin sighed – always like he’d been made to endure the most unbearable suffering, even if Arthur was just telling him to wash the dirty pile of socks. (Frankly, Merlin was the one who let them pile up in the first place.) 

Besides, didn’t Merlin understand anything about knights? About men? Arthur needed something back in pride for leaning on his walking stick of a manservant. He hoped he wasn’t too proud, like Morgana always said, but he was at least this proud, and Merlin never seemed to mind before. 

Or had he? Maybe Arthur didn’t understand non-knights. Well, that wasn’t really how to classify Merlin. He sort of was a knight, in his own shaky, reckless way. He was a man, too, Arthur supposed, only not like Arthur was used to, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

“What if there were other dragons?” 

“Hhm?” 

Merlin cut a glance sideways at him. “What would you do if there were still dragons?” 

Arthur smirked. “Never fear, Merlin. I’d protect you.” 

Merlin huffed through his nose. “Not like that you wouldn’t.” 

No, never mind. Merlin understood perfectly.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin called a halt the moment the blazing heat dropped a notch as midday waned toward evening. “You need to eat again,” he said, already drawing out the ration pack.

Arthur couldn’t argue. His vision was sloppy again and his throat was so dry he couldn’t clear it of dust. “You too, this time,” he said, when Merlin dumped two strips of jerky in his hand. “Take the bread, at least.” 

Merlin studied him, watching Arthur’s face closely for longer than Arthur liked. He had maybe one more day in him, if nothing changed. But he didn’t want Merlin knowing that. 

“OK,” Merlin agreed, as easily as if they’d never argued about it before. He set about gathering up dried chips of bark and rotting branches to make a meagre fire. Arthur concentrated on chewing and swallowing, which was a difficult feat without saliva of any kind. When the last bite was down his throat, he looked back up. 

“What’s that for?” A teetering pile of bark chips, twigs and dried grasses sat next to him, instead of Merlin. 

“You’ll need it tomorrow,” Merlin said simply. 

Two emotions warred in Arthur’s chest. A sharp pride that Merlin was going to listen, to actually do the plan, and a soft pain that Merlin was going to do the plan, go off alone, leave Arthur alone, maybe for the end. 

They ate in relative silence. Arthur didn’t know what to say. His whole body ached. He couldn’t feel his feet or his fingers. Sometimes Merlin’s voice was close and clear and at other times it was far off, separated by a thick curtain. 

“Arthur?” 

Arthur snapped his head up. Merlin was right in front of him. He almost bashed Merlin’s nose with the crown of his head. “Yes?” 

“Hello,” Merlin said, his voice soft. His fingertips were soft too on Arthur’s jaw. “Eat this.” 

Arthur opened his mouth. It was to say, “No, Merlin. We have to ration the food very carefully now,” but nothing came out and something went in. It was juicy and wet and sweet. Mushy. It was heavenly. 

“Where did you get that?” His throat worked a little better. 

“Saving it for emergencies,” Merlin replied. “Here, have more.” A soft slice of peach pressed against Arthur’s tongue. 

He savoured it and was sad to swallow. “You now,” he insisted when Merlin held out another slice to him. He saw the protest stiffen Merlin’s lips and he held up a hand. “Please.” 

Merlin kept looking at him, so he looked back and didn’t mention how many eyes Merlin had. He tried to act like there were only two. He hoped he was looking at the right ones. 

Finally, Merlin put the slice of peach into his own mouth. 

“Ha,” Arthur said, eyes closed. “You love it.” 

Merlin breathed a laugh. “Of course I do. It’s a peach in a desert.” 

Arthur smiled. “Good thinking, saving that.” 

It was hot and dark and Merlin was flushed from exertion and Arthur was semi-delirious, that was all. The indefinable, tightcord energy was just the way things were between them. Never quite quantifiable. 

They shared as much as Merlin would allow and Arthur knew it was closer to 70/30 than 50/50, but he let Merlin have his way. In that weightless moment nothing was as important to Arthur as letting Merlin have the comfort of knowing he’d done his best to get Arthur home. 

. 

Merlin did not spread out the bedroll. Arthur complained. 

“We’re sitting up,” Merlin announced. 

“I’d prefer to lie down.” Arthur felt more revived after the peach, but he wanted to sleep, and he wanted to do it as comfortably as possible. “There’s not even anything to sit against.” 

Merlin gave him a smile as if to say Arthur knew nothing and swung himself round so that his back pressed into Arthur’s. Merlin wasn’t as bony as Arthur supposed and the give of his muscles felt nice against the give of Arthur’s. Even though the sweat hadn’t dried from either of their backs, warmth suffused each knob of Arthur’s spine, comforting instead of oppressive. 

Arthur sighed and gave in. It wasn’t so bad. 

. 

He woke up with the back of his neck resting against Merlin’s shoulder, face to the stars. Merlin’s jaw was against his ear. His neck was stiff, so he adjusted, but that made Merlin move his face away. 

Though Merlin whispered, the familiarity of his voice felt loud against the hollowness of the open night sky. “Are you awake?” 

Arthur had slid down slightly in sleep, so that he was more reclined, and Merlin was more hunched over. It couldn’t be as comfortable for him. 

“Why didn’t we just get out the bedroll?” Arthur asked, which was answer enough to Merlin’s question. 

“Too much work,” Merlin said immediately. 

“Such a liar.” 

Merlin made no rejoinder. Arthur wasn’t awake enough to pursue it. Nothing made a sound. Arthur had almost dozed off again when Merlin said, “You can’t die sitting up.” 

Arthur smirked at the dome of the sky. “Where’d you hear that?” 

Merlin startled. Arthur could feel him clench his muscles to control his reaction. He’d thought Arthur was asleep. “My mother said so.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow that no one could see and smiled at Merlin’s folk beliefs. “You know they can,” he said plainly. “You’ve seen it yourself. Sitting, standing, lying down.” 

It was easier to read Merlin when you didn’t have to look at his face. His face was complex. His body was clear. His shoulders tensed and his lungs emptied slowly, a defense and a capitulation. “I can feel you breathing, though,” Merlin said at last. “So, it has its uses.” 

Clever, Arthur wanted to say. But he fell asleep. 

. 

Before dawn was more than a thin line cutting earth from sky, Merlin was up. And so, Arthur was up. 

Merlin had forced the last of the jerky between Arthur’s lips and Arthur had made an equal, if more subdued, show of forcing the bread on Merlin. 

“You’ll need it,” Arthur warned. Take a small bite every few leagues, so you don’t run out of energy. Save more than you think you’ll need in case something happens. Don’t wear yourself down – you never know what you might face. But his lungs didn’t have the air to support all his advice, so it was left to thud against his chest helplessly. He hoped Merlin was more level-headed on his own. 

Merlin took it somberly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

Arthur nodded. “I know.” 

Merlin fussed with the bedroll, trying to get it to fluff into some sort of pillow or prop but it drooped, so he messed with the stack of bark and prodded the smoky little fire. “Keep it going,” he said. “Even during the day. Just in case.” 

Arthur nodded again as Merlin came and knelt entirely too close to him and peered into his face. “Arthur,” he said, like he always did when he was trying to be heard: low and deep, as if his throat was a conduit for portents. “If you dare to not be here when I get back – I’ll tell everyone – ” 

Arthur waited but Merlin faltered. “Yes, Merlin. I know you’ll say it was a papercut or a thorn prick, but at least mention the pus.” 

Perhaps Merlin had a lot of dust in his nose, but one great sniff seemed to clear it. “How could I not? It was so vile it deserves its own ballad.” 

And then he stood up and ran off at an astonishing pace. 

. 

. 

~ 

Arthur had called weakly after him about conserving his energy and not running himself into the ground in a matter of paces, but Merlin neither slowed nor stopped. His long legs stretched out in the rising sun like a colt learning to canter and he kicked up clouds of red, gritty dust until disappearing below a dip in the land. 

The utter fool. He had no water, little food. He would absolutely die. And then Arthur would die. Useless bloody servant. 

. 

Plumbing the depths of Merlin’s stupidity passed the time until the sun had swung itself over the bowl of the earth and spilled forth its light. The heat rose. He’d keep the fire going as Merlin suggested, in case he was too weak later to start one again, but for now he scooted away from its choking smoke. 

The landscaped stretched out, still and silent in all directions. Arthur was grateful. He could barely lift his sword anymore. It lay at his side, gleaming brightly like a mirror, but it would be little help soon. It was strange. He’d felt less vulnerable with Merlin near, even though it only meant Arthur was responsible for defending them both, which should have been a greater burden. 

Well, Merlin might be a liability in most battles, but he had a steady presence, a way of making things seem manageable, even when they were dire. Like now. 

It brought Arthur back to contemplating the landscape. Had it been magic or a dragon? Or some other, unthought of trouble? He thought of the dragonlord, their supposed last hope. How would Merlin cry if he returned and only Arthur’s lifeless body was here? Arthur would be alone on the next journey, far from Merlin, and he wouldn’t be able to help him. They couldn’t help each other. 

The thought made him angry. 

And what had passed between the dragonlord and Merlin anyway? He’d been both sharper and sweeter in the man’s presence, like a willful child striving to be good. In Arthur’s experience, nothing much ever came of that effort except embarrassment. But he was getting sidetracked. Maybe Merlin was just unusual around people. He cared about so many of them so much. Arthur cared, but his feelings were more theoretical until he knew someone personally. Merlin seemed to have buckets of emotion for people from ‘hello.’ Or ‘Hey, come on,’ as it were. 

And he seemed to hold on to those emotions even when he lost –. 

Arthur grit his teeth. He didn’t want to be a loss Merlin had to move on from. He wanted to be there. Part of. With. 

Would trying to move a bit help or hurt? It might get his blood flowing better but it might tax him too much. He should have asked. But wasn’t Gaius always going on about keeping the blood moving? Surely his body would work better with a little effort. 

Arthur took a deep, steadying breath. He imagined the pain and then relegated it to the furthest part of his consciousness. And then he stabbed his sword into the ground, relishing the chalky sinking of the blade, and pulled himself up. 

. 

This was better. At least, if it happened, he’d be on his feet. His vision swam but his head felt clearer. He was the crowned prince of Camelot, dammit. He had a responsibility to his people. To his father. To the future he’d been planning since he understood that, one day, he’d take the kingdom into his own hands and guide it forward. 

The sun struck the earth. Arthur felt himself sweating and wondered how long that would last. He wondered if the grass and the trees and the rivers returned as abruptly as they’d vanished and if Merlin was among them yet, if there was a village or outpost or _someone_ nearby. 

He wondered why Merlin hadn’t thought to fill their water skins with the water he’d used to clean Arthur’s wound. Or perhaps it was clean enough to wash away grime but not clean enough to consume. Arthur couldn’t see a drop anywhere, not even a dusty pool in the hollows and basins of the plain. Or maybe he hadn’t found any and he just wanted to reassure Arthur. It would be such a Merlin type of lie. 

Arthur peeled back the edge of the bandage around his thigh. It looked bad and it smelled sickly but there wasn’t any of the ballad-worthy pus. Arthur smoothed the linen back in place and swayed on the spot. He could see individual particles of air and light moving through the atmosphere. They buzzed. 

.

. 

How had a simple good-will mission gone so wrong? Arthur and a few knights visiting some of the outermost villages, just to show face, to give aid if necessary, to remind the people that Camelot thought of them and protected them. It had been Arthur’s idea. His father called him naïve and soft-hearted and said such an endeavor was worse than a waste of time, it was counterproductive to the message of power and might Camelot was meant to exude. How would it look if knights were riding around asking if villagers were _all right_ and if there was anything we could do..? Arthur had returned to his rooms pale with humiliation and frothing with frustrated energy. 

He braced himself at the window instead of doing what he wanted, which was hurl a cup. 

“Maybe you could give your father an…amended reason?” 

Arthur kept his head down and dragged his eyes over to Merlin with a look he hoped said, ‘go away.’ 

Merlin stepped closer. “A reason he’d prefer?” 

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. “Like?” 

His manservant performed complicated nothings with his fingers but couldn’t seem to pull the words he wanted out of the air. “Mightier reasons?” 

Arthur felt the edges of his mouth lift and he allowed the smile to spread. “Eloquent, as usual.” 

But Merlin had given Arthur an inkling and he knew what to do with it. When he returned to his father and suggested it was important to remind outlying villages to whom their loyalty was due and what the laws were, with perhaps a few sun-gleams on weaponry, to showcase the might of Camelot, his father had acquiesced, saying, “Now you’re thinking like a leader.” 

So a small party set forth and reached the outskirts of Camelot, riding from village to village, their gleaming armour and sheathed swords bright in the sun. And even if they looked formidable, they rode in with the air of fellows and friends and worked harder at Arthur’s mission than Uther’s. 

The last village clung to a plateau in the mountains like a mushroom on a log. It was a windswept, stunted place with no more than twenty residents. Arthur couldn’t see how they survived. The rocky terrain allowed few crops and the livestock consisted of a shabby group of goats and chickens. He was sure winters were unbearable. Even now, at the end of summer, there was a chill breeze coming off the mountain. The weather was murky and wet and the clouds were low. 

“Last one, then home.” Arthur turned to Merlin as he said so, but Merlin was not at his shoulder. He swiveled on his horse until he saw the outline of his manservant, stopped at a low wooden sign thrust into the mountainside. 

People were already poking their heads out of rickety homes and ramshackle gardens to assess the incoming party, though, so Arthur pointed his horse toward them, announcing his name and his intentions. 

The village was cordoned with a low, broken fence that would keep nothing in or out. There was an air of defeat to it that Arthur wasn’t comfortable with and the rest of the structures seemed to match in character. Several more wooden signs were hung on the fence and first buildings, but Arthur couldn’t make out the worn paint as villagers came to greet them. 

The people welcomed them kindly and accepted the gifts of roots for autumn planting and flour with joy, exclaiming over the rarity of visitors, especially those of such renown. 

As the knights distributed the goods, Merlin rode up to Arthur and dismounted. He wore a dark look that Arthur associated with Merlin’s sudden, mysterious pronouncements and this was no exception. 

“Arthur, we can’t stay here.” 

For once he was in complete agreement, though if pressed he wouldn’t be able to say why. “One of your bad feelings?” 

Merlin gestured covertly. “Look at the signs. Didn’t you see them? Something’s off.” 

Arthur edged closer to a flaking old plank nailed to the fence. 

“NO MAGICK THROLL BE WARY” 

“They’re all some variation of that,” Merlin informed him, voice ominous. 

“Surely they’re just warning people that magic is forbidden in Camelot? They’re the first border town from this direction, after all.” He only said it because Merlin was vibrating like a netted hawk about to do something desperate, but he didn’t fully believe it himself. 

“Arthur, we need to _go_.” 

He put a hand on Merlin’s upper arm and imagined he could feel the blood racing through Merlin’s body. It wasn’t like Merlin to give details about his motives in most cases, but his insistence on leaving without even an attempt at an explanation, as if there simply wasn’t time, set alarm bells clanging in Arthur’s head. 

“All right.” He gave Merlin’s biceps a reassuring squeeze. “After we finish giving out supplies.” 

Privately, Arthur was glad Merlin had pushed, and the look of relief, even gratitude, on Merlin’s face bolstered Arthur’s confidence in his decision. 

Together, they led their horses into the village proper where the knights were talking with the people. As they approached, a few of the villagers ran off, gesturing excitedly. 

Sir Bedivere came forward. “There’s to be a bonfire, sire. It seems a welcome celebration to the people and the men will be glad of a little rest before the journey home. Your mission has been a great success, my lord.” 

Arthur nodded as Merlin’s gaze burned into the back of his neck. “I don’t wish to deprive either the villagers or the men of revelry, especially when it is so highly anticipated. However, Sir Bedivere, I believe we should begin the journey back to Camelot in all haste. We’ve been gone longer than expected.” 

Arthur had been glad to extend the journey while it lasted. Time away from the castle meant stones of weight off Arthur’s shoulders, but Sir Bedivere was too honorable to mention their lack of time-keeping up til now. He inclined his head smartly and with all grace said, “Yes, my lord. I’ll inform the men.” 

As he walked off, Arthur held in a relieved sigh. He never allowed himself emotional displays like that in public. “I suppose I’ll inform the people.” 

Merlin, however, did exhale loudly behind him, like he was releasing a breath he’d been holding since they arrived. He turned back and was not prepared for Merlin to be looking directly at him. He raised an eyebrow. 

‘Thank you,’ Merlin mouthed, then gestured ahead at the people who were gathering around a large fire pit, already piled high with logs. 

Arthur squared his shoulders, feeling somehow much more capable than he did before looking back. 

The murk had spread as Arthur made his way to the bonfire site where several knights and villagers were already gathered. He was formulating the speech in his mind. _Valued citizens of Camelot, entitled to protection under the crown, welcome in the citadel, worthy hosts, but we must ride on…_

Something of that sort would do. As he and Merlin came into the group, cheers went up full of exclamations about the prince being _here_ , in _our_ village! 

Arthur cringed, but opened his mouth to deliver the news and as the first word dropped, so too did a huge bolt of lightning. It stabbed into the hillside and thunder roared directly over their heads, shaking the scrawny little trees of the gardens. 

The village leader corralled everyone, shrieking and laughing, into a weathered grey barn as the downpour began. 

Arthur grabbed at Merlin’s coat. He nearly had to shout to be heard over the pounding of the rain. “This way!” he called. “The barn is over here.” The water was thick, but Merlin wasn’t that unobservant, was he? Honestly, his manservant could lose his way in an open field. 

Arthur saw that his men were already setting up sleeping quarters among the goats and chickens. He almost daren’t look back at Merlin but he couldn’t help himself. As he did so he realised he still had hold of Merlin and he let go. 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, imbuing the two syllables with all the urgency and unease he clearly felt. 

“What can I do about the weather?” Arthur replied quietly. “We’ll only stay the night – ” 

At Merlin’s impertinent huff Arthur pulled him closer. He couldn’t have the others catching Merlin’s creeps. “ _One_ night. We’ll leave at dawn, wet or dry, all right?” 

. 

Merlin was not happy. He sat stonily beside Arthur as everyone gathered in a large circle and passed around the ale and cider, undeterred by the rain, telling stories and singing well-known songs. He kept turning his ear to the door, but only the sound of thunder and rain smacking the earth could be heard. Everyone else was in high spirits. One of the village girls sung very well and so did Sir Geraint. Their duets brought tears to the eyes of some of the villagers and Arthur wondered if he’d witness a hand-fasting within the year. 

As night fell completely, and the ale and cider blanketed the sharper senses, the young Sir Morwen ventured a question. “What’s throll, then? On your signs posted about?” 

It was if the room had been plunged into water. Everything slowed and quieted. 

Except Merlin. He was subtle, but Arthur was right beside him. His spine stiffened and his hands curled into fists as if he couldn’t help himself. 

The village leader, a woman whose gray hair shone like armour in the flickering lantern lights spoke into the stillness. 

“The thrall.” 

All the villagers looked down and a few knocked their knuckles into the dirt. A man mimed throwing something over his shoulder. Folk beliefs. Arthur wanted to ask Merlin, but the space was too quiet not to be overheard. 

“We do not speak of it. When magic was driven from the land the thrall slept and we were saved.” 

“Is it a creature?” Sir Morwen persisted. “You say it slept.” 

The woman shook her head. “It is no creature of flesh and blood. It is a summoning. We must cease this talk.” 

“What summons it? Perhaps we can rid your village of this pest?” Sir Morwen was young and eager to prove himself, but he looked like he heartily regretted pressing when the woman muttered, “Magic,” and spit into the dirt. 

“Give us The Fair Weathered Isle, Geraint!” This was Merlin’s voice. To anyone who didn’t know him it sounded jovial and dismissive of the previous talk, but Arthur heard the strain. 

Sir Geraint stood and beckoned to Brythhe to sing along with him. The people roused themselves, but though several more songs were sung and daring tales of adventure and triumph were teased from the knights, the mood never righted itself. Soon the villagers were bobbing and bowing to Arthur as they made their way back to their own homes. His men began to fling out their bedrolls and remove their chainmail. 

Arthur was offered a bed in the village leader’s house that he was loathe to take when all his men would be sleeping on the ground. He was going to say so when Merlin stepped in front of him and bowed. 

“His royal highness thanks you and accepts your hospitality.” 

He raised a subtle eyebrow at Merlin. That was, technically, the correct response to such an offer, but he didn’t think Merlin knew that. 

They followed Awelda into the stormy night, Merlin swiveling his head like an owl until they were behind the sturdy earthen walls. 

Awelda was kind but grim as she set Arthur up in a bed and prepared her hearth. 

“My lord, it is an honor to have you in my home. I will stay with my neighbour, but should you need anything at all, please send your man to us and we will be happy to attend to you.” 

“Thank you,” Arthur said, uncomfortable at the level of formality out in this remote place. “My men and I will leave at dawn. On behalf of my father, the King, and myself, I thank you for your hospitality. Please give our thanks to the people of this place.” 

She bowed again, sent a nodding look to Merlin, and vanished through the door into the night. 

Arthur eased himself onto the bed. “You can layer the bedrolls,” he suggested to Merlin. “Bit more comfortable.” 

“Yes, sire, thank you,” Merlin said. He was completely distracted. He hadn’t even helped Arthur off with his boots. Arthur flicked a coin at him. 

“Are you with me, Merlin? Or have you lost your wits somewhere again?” 

“Hhm?” 

“Help me out of this chainmail.” 

Merlin was reluctant to do so. “Perhaps you should…” 

“You heard the woman, Merlin. The thing is gone. Has been gone since the purge. I’m sure it was killed.” 

“She said slept.” 

“Yes, well, was that literal or fanciful? You know how people can be in remote…” Arthur trailed off as Merlin crossed his arms and fixed him with a look. 

“Remote places like Ealdor?” 

Distraction successful. “Yes, exactly, Merlin. Places full of superstition and lore and no actual knowledge. Everyone leaving offerings for potato spirits and trying to get advice from cows.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened and his jaw hardened. Arthur nearly laughed but he didn’t want to give it away too early. 

Merlin threw his hands around. “Just because you don’t understand their beliefs or, or their experiences doesn’t mean they don’t know anything. It means you know _different_ things from each other!” 

Arthur shrugged as Merlin yanked off his chainmail and let his muscles relax. “I don’t know, Merlin. Does it really count as knowing something when you think a certain squirt of a sheep’s teat will tell you how the crops fare?” Arthur couldn’t hold it in anymore. He loved how vehement Merlin was in defense of village life. Although at this point perhaps he should be offended that Merlin didn’t realise he was joking. He laughed and watched Merlin’s annoyance fade, chased by an indulgent and long-suffering sigh. 

“Prat.” 

Arthur laid down. The sooner he slept the sooner he could rise and get Merlin out of here. 

“Go to sleep, Merlin,” he ordered loftily. “Not another peep.” He turned toward the wall and pointedly kept himself from moving or thinking. He breathed deeply to court the slumber at the edge of his mind and did not comment when Merlin neither laid out the bedrolls nor removed boots – Arthur’s or his own. 

. 

He could not, however, feign sleep when he heard the door to the little cottage creak open late in the night. He rolled over. Merlin was silhouetted in the weak moonlight in the entrance. He had a bag of supplies on his back. The rain had passed, and a dull smattering of stars shone out. Merlin looked about, perhaps for anyone abroad, and seeing no one, slipped into the night. 

Arthur shot out of bed. Merlin was odd, but Arthur doubted one needed full gear to answer the call of nature. He grabbed his sword and hurried after Merlin as quietly as he could. 

The rain had indeed gone, but the atmosphere was not the fresh, cleansed air that usually followed. Everything was oppressively wet and warm. Arthur felt like he was breathing bath water. He could see Merlin creeping toward the barn, where the men and horses (and goats and chickens) slumbered. 

But Arthur could sense something was not right. It wasn’t just the thickness of the night. There was a muttering nervousness roiling among the cottages, a helpless unease in the calls of the animals. 

Before Merlin had gone five yards towards the barn he stopped. He cocked his head to the right, turning on his heel slowly, until he was facing Arthur again. For one moment Arthur thought it was the sight of him, following Merlin when Merlin didn’t expect it, that made his manservant’s eyes so wide. 

And then Merlin shouted. “Arthur! Run!” 

Arthur spun as well and the thick air solidified before him where it had been empty a moment ago. 

A swirling, pulsing, nebulous mass erupted into space and took the form of a great beast, all claws and teeth. 

Arthur ducked a swipe from its sharp limb and rolled away to stand in front of Merlin, sword raised. 

“All right,” Arthur said conversationally. “I stand corrected. It was sleeping.” He could practically hear Merlin’s eyes rolling skyward. 

The creature morphed shape as it ran toward them. It was a wolf, a boar, a hawk and then it was all three. 

“Just, _RUN!_ ” Merlin shouted. They ran. They dodged around cottages and farming tools, feinting left and right to deter its sharp ends from sinking home. Candles spurted to life in cottage windows and Arthur heard the knights mustering themselves in the barn. 

Merlin risked a glance back and almost lost an arm as the creature chomped at him. Arthur threw him forward and brandished a wide, arching attack at the creature. 

He landed a blow and the creature reared, coming down swatting. Arthur felt his thigh splice open like an uncooked sausage and he went sideways. Never had a cut gone so deep. Arthur could swear his bone had been gouged. In a haze of pain, he lifted his sword over his head, sure the creature would strike a killing blow, but it stepped over him without a glance and stalked forward. Arthur swiveled and saw Merlin, frozen between reaching out for Arthur and staring at the creature. 

“To the Prince!” That was Sir Bedivere. 

An arrow loosed and sunk into the body of the creature. It roared and its hybrid form began to shrink. 

We have it, Arthur thought. He motioned to Merlin to get behind a tree, but as he did so the creature shifted again and grew. The arrow fell uselessly to the ground. 

The knights were upon them, swords flashing in the wet light, surrounding the creature to give battle. 

Arthur felt Merlin kneel at his side and haul him up. “Can you walk?” 

Whether he could or not, he must, so he nodded. 

Merlin was taking him back to the leader’s cottage. “We need.” It was hard to breathe through the pain. “Horses, Merlin. Take me to the barn.” 

“I’ll get the horses and come back for you.” 

Merlin had no mind for strategy. It would take so much more time that way and he’d be just as likely to go off in the wrong direction – he’d done it before – and they needed to surround the thing and chase it off before it hurt any villagers. 

Especially now that they were sticking their heads out of their doors, some slamming them shut again and others scattering, easy prey for a magical predator. He tried to motion for them to return inside, but they scurried about, wide-eyed with disbelief, as the knights continued to attack. 

Arthur stumbled. When he righted himself on Merlin’s arm the leader of the village stood in the moonlight in front of them. 

“Awelda,” Merlin said. Arthur couldn’t place his tone. No one would be sanguine at a time like this, but the strain of fear in Merlin’s voice seemed more a warning or a pleading. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “It has never a known a power such as –” 

“The knights will protect you,” Merlin cut in. “Get everyone back inside.” 

“You must draw it out. Away from here.” 

Arthur gathered his strength and stood tall in front of his subject. “You have my word.” 

She looked him full in the face and tilted her head slightly, like she was considering his suitability for the task. Or… for then she looked to Merlin and nodded and turned away from them without a word, before calling out to her neighbours to seek shelter. 

“What was – ” 

Merlin cut Arthur off. “Let me put you down and – ” 

But Arthur was having none of that. “Together or not at all,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s get the horses.” 

Before they got five more steps, however, the creature gave an eager roar from behind them. The knights shouted and Arthur heard a commotion. 

Merlin whispered, “No,” and then it was upon them. 

Somehow, the creature missed a direct hit. It struck not a meter to their right. Arthur threw himself into the creature’s shifting side and sunk his sword home. An unearthly scream rent the air. 

Arthur unstuck his blade as the creature wound in on itself, grabbed Merlin by the shirt, and ran. 

He could hear the monstrous footfalls gaining on their flight. They dodged gnarled little trees and jumped over divots in the uneven earth. 

They dove over the broken perimeter fence, but still it loped after them. 

“Go, go, go, go.” Merlin kept up a muttered stream in a frantic tone Arthur had never heard from him before. They tore down the rocky path away from the village. The moon was dim, and it was difficult to see the footing. 

Arthur grabbed at Merlin’s jacket as he veered off on his own. “This way, the forest. Come on!” 

It was darker under the trees, but the creature had no clear path to pouncing on them. Arthur could hear Merlin’s airy breathing and the strange vacuum of sound that heralded the creature close at their heels. 

They caught their ankles on bushes and slammed their toes into rocks that poked out of the earth but still they ran, the creature gaining until at last Arthur understood that they couldn’t outrun it. 

He pushed Merlin forward. There was little air left in his lungs, so his command of “go!” was mostly breath. He turned back and it was there, its eyes gleaming so brightly in the darkness that there was no question it was of magic. 

Merlin was running. Arthur could hear his footfalls getting further and further away, but the idiot was shouting and making such a ruckus that his escape was meaningless as the beast swiveled its head, a stork-like beak on it now, and vaulted over Arthur. 

It was, frankly, getting ridiculous. Arthur threw questioning eyes at the sky before hurling himself forward into the trees, trying to make more noise than Merlin, ignoring the searing, roasted quality of the pain in his leg and all his bruises. 

He only seemed to catch up because Merlin was darting from one tree to another as the creature zigged and zagged after him, less able to manouever in the forest. 

They ran and ran. Arthur couldn’t tell how far or for how long, but the further they got from the village the slower and less able the creature seemed to be. As first light leaked into the inky darkness, they stumbled abruptly out of the living forest and onto dead plains. 

As soon as they crossed that threshold the creature shrunk back, prowling the border of the forest, gnashing and gasping as if it could suck them in with the force of its inhalation, but came no further. 

“It must have a place of power,” Merlin posited, out of breath. “A place it can replenish its magic,” he explained when Arthur stayed silent. “It probably can’t get too far from that or it risks being cut off.” 

Arthur kept walking. He wasn’t going to risk the creature suddenly deciding they were a meal worthy of the extra effort. “How do you know all this stuff?” he gasped. 

“Gaius,” Merlin said simply. “He knows everything.” 

“Yeah, but how does it come up? He tells you bedtime stories about this kind of thing, does he?” 

Merlin let out a flat laugh. “You’ve guessed it.” 

“I guess Morwen did summon it with all that talk. Poor lad, he’ll never live it down.” 

Merlin nodded but said nothing. It was too hard to get their breath back after so much running. The idea that they weren’t being hunted any longer was hard to accept. They both looked over their shoulders until the creature was just a shining mass in the distance. 

“We’ll go on,” Arthur decided. “This is the most direct way back to Camelot.” 

“What kind of place is this?” 

Arthur shrugged, using the motion to let some of the pain roll off him. 

“You’re injured,” Merlin said. “Let me see.” 

“Let’s get a little farther,” Arthur protested. “I’ll be alright.” 

Merlin looked torn. “Let me just quickly –” 

Arthur pushed him off. “It’s fine Merlin. I want to get on.” 

“But –” 

“And where were you going, anyway?” 

Merlin looked away. “What?” 

Arthur pulled at the supply pack on Merlin’s back, complete with his bedroll. “This.” 

A strange, drawn out moment passed and then Merlin said, “Well, I was right, wasn’t I?” 

“Ye-es,” Arthur agreed, since it was obvious. “But you would have been easy prey on your own.” 

“I would no – I wasn’t going on my own. I was just going to get the horses and come back for you, but obviously that plan got thwarted.” 

Arthur huffed. “Right.” 

Merlin stopped walking. “I would never leave you undefended. I would never –” He cut himself off in frustration. 

Arthur stood a few feet in front of him, waiting for his conclusion. 

“I wasn’t abandoning you,” Merlin finally said. “I wasn’t afraid of it, I was just trying to protect you.” 

Arthur couldn’t define what he felt. It had looked very much like Merlin was abandoning him. Fear made one do unwonted things. But, after all, Merlin was not a knight, and he’d been uneasy from the moment they’d arrived, unlike the others, who didn’t seem to sense anything amiss in the air. So he couldn’t fault him, really. It wasn’t fair to hold Merlin to the same standards. And just because he usually flew past the standards to even higher ones didn’t mean it would always be so. No one could exceed expectations continuously. Still, it hurt, a bit, that Merlin had been willing to leave him. And it scared him that Merlin was empty-headed enough to think he could get away from a magical creature all on his own. 

And further still, there was something about the whole incident that didn’t sit well with Arthur. Merlin was often close-lipped about the most unexpected things, but there was more than met the eye about this incident and Merlin was projecting that loud and clear. Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to take Merlin to task, however, not with the shadow still haunting his eyes. 

“It’s not your job to protect me, Merlin. It’s the opposite, in fact. So help me by not running face first into dangerous magical forces when you can, all right?” He gave Merlin’s shoulder a shove and let the matter drop. 

. 

. 

~ 

Arthur blinked against the red sun. The air still buzzed, and the barren landscape warped and tilted before him. How long had Merlin been gone? Could he have found help yet? 

Even if so. Arthur looked over the horizon line toward Camelot’s citadel, too far to even glimpse. His heart twinged and a soft resignation fell and shrouded him, dulling all other hurts. 

He would not see it again.


	3. Chapter 3

BOOM

Arthur blinked his eyes open. A watery, dark blue light filtered in. Mist curled around him and obscured all else. He took a breath but found he could not pull in air. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t need it anymore. 

BOOM 

There, in the mist. Wasn’t that someone? Arthur stepped toward their outstretched hand. He knew that face… 

BOOM 

The shadowy figure shrank back at the sudden noise. And what was it? Such an ugly sound destroyed the peace of this place, the sweet, soft silence. He wanted to clasp that slight hand and walk deeper into the quiet. 

BOOM 

Arthur turned away from the figure’s beckoning. Would this disturbance insist on clanging in his head like so many war drums? The thundering was behind him. He took a step closer, craning his neck to hear, squinting his eyes to see. 

BOOM 

“Hello?” Arthur called. “Show yourself!” 

BOOM 

He reached for his sword but there was nothing at his hip. He wasn’t deterred. He felt no fear. He felt nothing at all, really, except a vague curiosity. “Who’s there?” 

BOOM 

BOOM 

Arthur walked closer to the sound, though it distressed the figure. The noise got louder and louder. He walked on. The dark blue began to fade, as though water was being added to dye. The figure seemed to call out, but Arthur couldn’t hear over the clash. A bodhrán? 

BOOM 

BOOM 

BOOM 

A tabwrdd? Arthur couldn’t help himself. The shadowy figure followed at a distance, reaching out now and then, but Arthur wanted to understand the drumming. It was so out of place. 

“Who is doing that?” he called. And then, for reasons he couldn’t remember, he shouted, “Merlin?” 

And then he heard him. 

“Arthur listen to me! Arthur!” 

The figure disappeared into the mist with a long sigh. The color lightened. 

“Arthur, please, please. Come on, you stubborn arse! I said, LISTEN TO ME!” 

BOOM 

BOOM 

BOOM 

BOOM 

Arthur stepped into the sound. 

. 

~ 

Merlin was hovering above him and the sky was an angry red again, not a dark and safe blue-black. Arthur watched in a daze as Merlin raised both hands and struck them hard against the earth on either side of Arthur’s head. It reverberated much louder than Arthur thought was normal. 

He understood. The drumming was to call him back. 

Merlin hadn’t yet noticed Arthur’s consciousness. He looked terrible. His face was splotched with red and he was covered in dust. There were clear tracks under his eyes and nose and a lot of spit at his lips. Veins stuck out at his forehead and the corners of his eyelids, under which a sickly yellow seemed reflected by the sun. 

“Arthur Pendragon!” he shouted. "Come here to ME!" His voice cracked – Arthur didn’t even want to tease him. His heart twisted to reassure Merlin. He tried to move or send some brain sign that he was here, that they both were in the same place, but all he could manage was a drunken sort of exhalation. 

“Oh, Arthur. Oh gods.” Merlin’s fingers went immediately to his pulse points, first his neck, then his palm covered Arthur’s heart with gentle pressure. He whispered Arthur’s name while Arthur tried to get his lungs to breathe without him telling them to. 

Merlin’s hands were impossibly warm and everywhere they touched Arthur felt a small spark ignite his blood and set it right. 

“Here,” Merlin was saying as he delicately manoeuvred Arthur upright and held the water skin to Arthur’s lips. Cool river water swept across Arthur’s tongue. He tasted the minerals and the moss, and they were delicious. “A little more, Arthur.” 

Arthur obeyed. The water’s reviving effect was almost magical. As it flooded his mouth, his throat, his stomach, a freshness spread through his mind. Weakness of limb still weighed him down, but he felt more aware – he _wanted_ to haul himself back to full wakefulness. 

“Slowly.” He struggled against Merlin’s reasonable injunction. Hadn’t Merlin said it himself? Lying down invited death. And he was so close to it – he could still feel the fever-warm breath of the mist and the pervading chill that crept beneath it. “Arthur, hey. Stay here.” He was. He was trying. “This is where you need to be. In Camelot, where you have a great destiny. Do you hear me, Arthur?” 

Yes, even the dead can hear you, _Mer_ lin. 

“You need to be here with your people, who need you. Who await you. Who await the world you’ll construct for all of us. We…” 

Merlin cut himself off. Arthur felt Merlin’s fingertips at his neck again and heard his worried suck of teeth. He loved that about Merlin – how he took such arbitrary things personally. Not the things he should, no, that was water off a duck’s back. As if Arthur dying was a judgement on Merlin particularly. 

“Merlin.” That was all he could manage at the moment, but Merlin grinned, wide and bright. 

“Shut up?” He laughed and the sound sunk into Arthur’s muscles and fizzed there. 

“No.” 

Arthur could tell Merlin was relieved. He wanted to put Merlin at ease. And he needed… 

“Keep talking.” 

Merlin looked at him like he’d just been offered a knighthood. Or a day off. His expression was so fond and worried that Arthur’s hitch of breath had nothing to do with his lungs’ functional ability. 

“Right, well,” Merlin sniffed loudly and wetly. “This ends. The wasteland, I mean. Less than a league or so and then it’s as if this place doesn’t exist. The fields are green, and the hills have tall trees. Rivers, Arthur, everywhere. Streams and rivulets and springs. Have more.” 

Merlin held the water skin to Arthur’s lips again and the cool wetness was still as sweet. Arthur drank until Merlin was satisfied and then he concentrated on breathing and listening to Merlin’s voice recount his arrival in a small village, his borrowing of a horse, his ride back to Arthur. 

“As soon as you feel able, we’ll ride,” Merlin promised. 

Arthur wanted to ride immediately, but his limbs weren’t on the same page. It took longer than Arthur liked to corral them and make them carry out his will. Merlin hovered and helped, his strong hands flexing against Arthur at each of his shaky steps. 

. 

. 

~ 

Arthur could not recall the horse ride in detail. He remembered the sensation of movement, the bump and jolt and Merlin’s arms pressed against his own as Merlin worked the reins. He remembered the effort it took to stand and pretend he was only mildly wounded as Merlin secured them a room. He was still the prince and whether he was recognised or not was immaterial. He knew who he needed to be and that person could not show weakness. Weakness implied vulnerability and that was not something a prince had. 

But once the wooden door was securely closed behind them Arthur collapsed onto the narrow bed. It felt positively glorious under his aching muscles. 

Merlin scurried about building a fire in the hearth, which was soon roaring, bathing the room in soft yellows and golds, making Arthur comfortable, and slipping out to gather more food and water. 

By the time Merlin was back night had fallen in soft black hues, comforting and a blessed relief after the harsh reds of the last many days. 

Arthur watched Merlin set out dinner and stoke the fire. The night wasn’t fully quiet here – not like out in that wasteland. There were sounds of people penning their animals and wishing each other a restful evening. Little bells, the shouts of children, the clanking of pots and pans wafted through the glassless windows. 

Merlin had managed to gather a small feast. There were blackberries and what seemed to be the last of the summer peaches. There were cabbage leaves stuffed with potato mash and roast vegetables and a stew bubbled in the hearth. 

“Did we have enough coin for all that?” Arthur asked drowsily. 

Merlin looked up, caught. “Uh…no? I bartered.” 

Arthur let go a breathy laugh. “What?” 

Merlin pretended to be affronted. “My services!” 

“Naughty.” 

Merlin looked very pleased to have to defend his honour. “Your mind is so base, my _lord_. If you must know, I fixed a broken door, mended some boots, scoured some pots and repaired a set of broken reins. All for you.” 

“They weren’t my things.” 

“All so you could eat.” 

Arthur’s smile mirrored Merlin’s. “That’s too kind, Merlin. So industrious when you put your mind to it.” 

Merlin brought a bowl and plate over to Arthur on the bed. “Do you need help with this?” 

His doze while Merlin had gone off to be alarmingly useful had helped his health considerably. 

“I think I can manage.” 

But Merlin stayed close, their shoulders nearly touching and every now and then his hand came up to support the bowl Arthur was holding, or steady the plate as Arthur manoeuvered his fork. 

When Arthur had finished and Merlin cleaned his own bowl and plate under Arthur’s watchful gaze, a knock sounded at the door. 

Merlin went to open it. 

“Oh, thank you,” he said and let two boys into the room, a round tub of water between them. To them he handed out a coin each and they skipped out in clamourous excitement. 

“Saving your coin for the important matters, I see.” 

“Exactly,” Merlin smiled. He turned his back to Arthur and hauled the sloshing tub closer to the fire. It wasn’t a bathing tub for a grown man, that much was clear. Arthur was momentarily perplexed until Merlin turned back and said, “We need to wash your wound. Thoroughly.” 

It was not easy. But by setting up a low stool just outside the wooden walls of the tub, Arthur could suspend his leg over the gently steaming water. When they’d brought it in it hadn’t seemed like a hot bath, but he was still tired and he could admit his senses weren’t as sharp as usual – and either way, he was grateful. Merlin straddled the tub, perching on the thin edge opposite Arthur, with Arthur’s foot wedged between his stomach and thigh. 

This was why one needed to implicitly trust their manservant, Arthur thought. He wouldn’t be awkwardly suspended above a steaming tub in his smalls with his foot in just anyone’s lap as they poured water and scrubbed at his wound. And he did trust Merlin. That was never in question. Even if his servant was going to leave him that night to run from a terrifying beast. Arthur couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the same in Merlin’s position. In fact, he remembered, he’d been all too happy to acquiesce to Merlin’s plea to leave. 

And now, Merlin’s fingers cleaned out dirt and sickness with such care, never snagging the puffy edges of his wound, never pressing unnecessarily hard, never flinching away from the admittedly unpleasant sight or odour. 

Merlin was even careful not to let the used water fall back into the tub with the clean water. He used two wooden bowls to pour and catch, throwing the used water into a bucket that Arthur guessed was meant as a bedpan. 

It didn’t feel good – the wound was still too raw for Merlin’s ministrations to feel good – but it felt cleansing and heartening. By the time Merlin was done the deep gash looked like a wound that would heal, instead of a fatal strike. 

He continued to pour the clean warm water over Arthur’s leg almost dreamily, and then he set the bowl floating in the water as his wet hands gripped the round of Arthur’s thigh to press gently but firmly into the aching muscles. 

Arthur could not help a gasp. It was a mix of surprise and pain – the kind that comes from tense muscles being forced into relaxation. Merlin paused but only momentarily for soon his fingertips pressed in again, and again and again. “We need to get your blood moving,” Merlin said quietly after a moment. Arthur gripped the edges of the stool and said nothing. 

Merlin’s hands worked up and down his leg, his thumbs smoothing out the muscles as if they were wrinkles in a shirt he was ironing. The numbness that had plagued Arthur for days caused sparks to flare under his skin as his muscles came back to life. It was a strange kind of torture – not pain exactly, and obviously good, but unendurable in silence. Arthur dragged his nails against the underside of the wooden stool and grit his teeth. His free leg stomped the floor twice before he could stop it. 

Merlin looked up questioningly, his hands stilling. 

“No,” Arthur gasped, shaking his head. “It’s good. Just intensely horrible.” 

Merlin had mastered the look of indulgently cherishing a wayward child. Arthur expected it was the look Merlin’s mother had most often turned on him. “You lost feeling in this leg, then?” 

Arthur nodded. “It’s coming back though. Vehemently.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

Arthur shook his head involuntarily as Merlin’s fingers dug back in. “I didn’t want to panic you.” 

Merlin huffed in disapproval. “You might have lost your leg.” 

“I know,” Arthur grit out. “Exactly.” 

“Is anywhere else numb?” 

Arthur forced a long, slow breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Not to the same extent.” 

“Where?” 

“The other leg. And my hands, a little.” 

Merlin let out a noise that was anguish and annoyance all in one. He grabbed up Arthur’s other leg, almost unseating Arthur in the process and put both feet against his stomach. His fingers began to entice the blood in Arthur’s unwounded leg and the process wasn’t as painful. 

“You are incredible,” Merlin said, but not with the complimentary air Arthur would have preferred. “I could have been doing this all along! It would have helped. What are you trying to protect by not saying anything?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Arthur returned, though he didn’t know he was going to say it until it was shimmering in the air between them. 

Merlin’s fingers stilled. 

“It wasn’t that Morwen summoned it,” Arthur went on. It was like rolling down a hill - you couldn't stop til you reached the end, no matter what was at the bottom. “Because it didn’t care about anyone but _you_.” 

Now Merlin’s fingers were not still. They gripped Arthur’s ankles unconsciously. 

“Only you and I felt the strangeness of that place. And then Awelda told _us_ to lead it away. As if she knew it would follow.” 

Merlin was petrified stone. He stared into Arthur’s eyes as if he were in the thrall of magic instead of – Arthur’s stomach dropped. 

“Magic summons it,” Arthur said. He was amazed at how even his voice was. “The magic _you_ used.” 

He couldn’t believe it, even as he was saying it, but Merlin’s eyes grew brilliant with unshed tears glinting in the firelight. 

“I didn’t,” he said. 

Arthur almost laughed. “We could try something new,” he echoed. “Where you tell me the truth.” 

Merlin swallowed as if fighting back bile and the tears slipped over his cheeks. “I didn’t,” he repeated. 

“But you practice it,” Arthur insisted. “You summoned it.” 

The other option was himself. Born of magic, perhaps the scent of it had never washed off. He’d be too glad to accept that explanation, if Merlin would only say so. But even as he wished it, all of Merlin’s eccentricities, his personal mysteries, the confusing oddities that Arthur had been so hard-pressed to define slotted into place and the gate opened, revealing the protected sanctum of truth. 

“I never used it,” Merlin whispered. “But it sensed me anyway.” 

There. _There._ At last. 

. 

. 

A long time between breaths. A ringing silence. A closing in of walls. 

He’d been at the edge of this knowledge for so long without knowing it – and yet – knowing it. Now that the words had been said it was obvious, unsurprising. And yet Arthur felt he’d been slammed in the head with a mace. 

“It…” he didn’t know what he wanted to say. There was too much to say. And nothing. “Changes things.” 

Merlin’s head fell like it had been chopped off. “No.” 

The strangled quality of Merlin’s voice, like all of his fears were confirmed, stung Arthur. He wasn’t the one who’d lied and lied and _lied._

He – he wasn’t _unreasonable_. He… hated the way Merlin was holding himself immobile and tense while his tears splashed onto Arthur's ankles. 

“When did you… start using it?” Arthur asked awkwardly. Merlin wasn’t from Camelot, after all, and Escetir had different views on magic. It was part of the reason Camelot and Escetir weren’t allies. So, technically speaking, if Merlin learned it in Escetir it wasn’t a crime. And perhaps he didn’t use it in Camelot. That would be all right. It was a tenuous loophole, but Arthur thought it held enough water. 

“I don’t know,” Merlin intoned dully. “Before I could talk.” 

“Was there ever such a blissful time?” 

Merlin’s head shot up and he peered at Arthur uncomprehendingly. Arthur heard himself joke and realised he'd done it without thought. 

“I was born with it,” Merlin said carefully. “I never learned it.” 

Arthur had thrown himself off balance with his teasing. It was too natural and too easy, but things had changed. Right? 

“Is that possible?” Arthur wondered. 

Merlin nodded, his eyebrows low. “Of course. Plenty of people are born with it. You can’t even study it well unless you already have some in you to begin with.” 

“I’ve never heard of babies having it. That would be chaos.” 

“It’s usually latent until later years,” Merlin explained. “But it wasn’t with me.” 

“Your poor mother.” 

A watery, hesitant smile played over Merlin’s lips before he remembered himself and shuttered his face. 

Arthur considered him. His manservant was literally vibrating with the effort of holding himself still, or perhaps holding in his feelings. He wanted to see something new, a clue to Merlin’s inner life, a visible reason why Merlin had never said anything, a mark that would say decisively whether Merlin was good or bad. 

But he only saw Merlin, the same as he always did. Hem-frayed jacket, dark hair, long fingers, wheat-stalk legs. The only obvious difference from usual were Merlin’s collarbones, cutting sharp shadows in the firelight. And the only reason those were visible was because he’d used his scarf to bind Arthur’s wound out in that forsaken desolation, not once but twice. He'd carried Arthur for days, cared for him for days. For years. 

Merlin had been trying to leave the village on his own to do exactly as he said – protect Arthur. 

He was too tired to second guess himself. And anyway, as he frequently told Morgana, he was never wrong. Or when he was, to be fair, he tried to make amends. 

“Can I have my feet back?” Arthur asked. 

Merlin startled and released them. 

His knees were stiff as he brought them back to the floor and he let out a soft hiss. 

Merlin made a complicated movement that he aborted, clearly caught between automatically offering Arthur help and holding himself back in this new, strained atmosphere. 

Arthur didn’t like it. He didn’t want things to change. It had only been a few minutes and he already missed their easy banter and peaceful coexistence more than he missed Camelot. He missed that indefinable thing that always suffused the air between them; he missed Merlin’s rude adoration. 

He simply couldn’t be bothered to stop feeling the way he felt for Merlin. It would be too great a task. 

“Well, here.” Arthur reached back to the bed and uncovered a small peach he’d held back from eating. He’d been intending to give it to Merlin later, on the road, as a sort of thank you, but he held it out now. 

Merlin stared at it. “What’s that?” 

Arthur smirked. “A peach in a desert.” 

. 

~ 

Arthur asked no more questions until they were back within the walls of the citadel. Nothing he’d ever had with Merlin was fragile and he wasn’t willing to test the resilience of this new angle until he was sure it was as strong as the others. 

Neither, it seemed, was Merlin. 

His manservant was unflinchingly normal. Whatever normal was for Merlin. He was no better at his duties and he was no worse. He teased with the same frequency, he helped with the same frequency as before. It was all so precise that Arthur was both amazed and annoyed.

A fortnight after their return and the return of the knights’ party, to the relief of all, Arthur asked Merlin to accompany him on a short ride. 

Merlin packed the bags and out they went to one of Camelot’s green fields, in view of the castle walls but far enough away that no one was passing idly by. 

Arthur dismounted and leaned against his horse, facing the citadel which was circled with bright clouds. 

Merlin wandered close and followed Arthur’s gaze. 

“I thought I’d never see it again,” Arthur admitted. 

Merlin nodded. “You nearly didn’t.” 

“I have you to thank,” Arthur said, still gazing ahead. “Many times over, it seems, and not just on that journey.” 

Merlin shrugged. “Who’s counting?” 

Arthur laughed. “You, obviously.” 

Merlin pretended innocence. “It’s my honour, sire.” 

Here was the crux. “Is it really, though?” 

Merlin turned at his serious tone and met his eyes. “Yes.” 

“Why would you want to be in Camelot serving me when you could…I don’t know…go somewhere where magic is allowed?” 

Merlin looked back to the towering citadel, the strong walls, and the blue sky beyond. “The worst part,” he said, a teasing edge to his tone, “Is that I don’t even mind it anymore.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and Merlin grinned. 

“You were such a prat. You were _so committed_ to pratliness. I thought I’d…I thought we’d never get along.” Merlin shot him a mischievous, glinting eye. “But you turned out to be very mouldable, sire. Perfectly amenable to change.” 

“I what?” Arthur said, fondness warring with indignation. 

“You changed me, too,” Merlin said, less teasingly. “And after a while I didn’t… want to go anywhere else. I can’t fathom it now. Leaving you -r service.” 

A peach-blossom warmth bloomed in Arthur’s chest. “Such a liar.” 

Merlin folded his lips in and smiled, looking at the ground. “Not this time.” 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Well. Good. Because I don’t…” Gods, this was so annoying. It was so much easier when everything was hidden, actually. He could see why Merlin preferred secrecy. “I don’t want you to leave. Because…” Crowned prince of Camelot, dammit. “Because I don’t want things to change.” 

Arthur let Merlin believe he didn’t see the tears his manservant wiped hastily away. 

“They have to change a little,” Merlin reasoned. 

“Only in the ways we want,” Arthur rejoined. “Not in the – the ways you were afraid of.” They knew each other better now. The door to an inner life they could share had opened. There were more possibilities now than ever before. “I’ll protect you and keep your secret, Merlin, as if it were my own.” 

Merlin held his gaze. “It is yours, Arthur.” His eyes were so clear. “You must know that.” 

Arthur blinked but the pitch over a cliff never came. He did know. Like Merlin’s magic, it only needed words for his feelings to be cast into the light, fully realised and understood. 

“Yes,” he said and Merlin’s smile widened, full of promise. 

. 

. 

~ 

“It probably was a dragon,” Merlin said with impish suddenness. “I’ll tell you all about it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) Please let me know if you enjoyed!


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